Disclaimer: don't own nothing of Tolkien's
Prologue
Second Age 2575
It was quiet.
Indeed, the shutters were no longer panicking in the empty gaping windows. They hung limply, lifeless. The candle flame barely wavered as the quill paused on its way to the inkpot.
It was far too quiet.
The quill returned to the parchment, hesitant. It quivered at the gentle caress as its ink was gently teased out. It danced, twirling and leaping, leaving behind a trail of black tears. With a shudder, it stopped, hovering in midair.
Silence.
Slowly, the quill lay down on the burnished surface of the wood, quietly weeping and trembling. The chair moaned as it scraped across the floor. With a swish, a heavy cloak disappeared from the rack, only to reappear balanced across sound shoulders. The hilt of a dagger vanished into steady hands, the blade cutting a lone moonbeam.
Step.
The door grumbled open. Dim firelight poured into the room, joyous and blissful but with a snap, the door swallowed. The cloak hem washed along the ground, the dagger point peeking curiously from within with each alternate step.
Muted murmuring.
The steps paused at an arch, in which it seemed the sun burned. Red and gold skipped up the pillars, along the edges, into the darkest corners. The dagger point flashed crimson, as if after its first kill. The cloak hem edged closer to the arch, closer, closer –
Cough.
As if in a dream, the cloak flew open, and the dagger blade soared towards the assailant. A broadsword fled out of its scabbard to meet the dagger. The small blade skimmed down the length of the sword with a metallic hiss and clattered, useless, to the ground.
The murmuring ceased.
"Bring them in," commanded a voice. The guardsman picked up the knife and grabbed a fistful of the cloak. He flung the trespasser to the feet of the owner of the voice and bowed respectfully. "My lord."
The lord stood silently, gazing down at the quaking figure. With a sigh, he crouched down. "My child, why are you here?"
The child started, and a pair of hazel eyes flew open. "Uncle Aldor, I … it's too quiet. And dark." The lord smiled.
"Brother-daughter, I have business here to attend. Go with Héowa now." The serving woman bustled forward and led the girl away through the arch. As they faded into the darkness, the lord's smile slipped away. "She is peredhil, is she not?" came a soft voice behind him. He turned. Blue eyes met brown. "Aye, she is."